Phillip Garcia Poet Rhyme

Fetch In the Muck

Through the thick of the fog
I begged to the bog
stumped by a stymied log.
It was hollow of pride,
like a zookeeper’s dog,
reduced to bark-less hide.
From the splat of my thud
It wore polka-spot mud
and rolled just because
It knew what It was
to snap unjustified.
So what could I do
but prove what It knew
with another attack
on the cripple I threw?
If cracking my back
playing fetch in the muck
was the point of It all - I’m stuck.


12/11/2018

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John Hamilton December 12, 2018 at 1:48 PM Polka-spot mud, bet that's never been said before, you are the BOSS Phillip, you should check out lady Labryrinth you are of the same mind! Phillip Garcia December 12, 2018 at 2:02 PM The rare but ever so glorious moment when you look at a type-o and say, "eh, it close enough to working that it's probably poetic". Thank you, John, I'll scope out your poor friend who you say shares the same affliction as I. :)

Tim Smith December 12, 2018 at 7:36 AM We all get stuck just need friends to help us out Phillip Garcia December 12, 2018 at 2:37 PM Or a big chain and a truck! Always good to see ya, Tim. Your avatar pic is probably my favorite of all that I've seen here. It's just joyous. Pure and simple.